


The School for Lovers

by Cherubinhoe



Category: Così fan tutte - Mozart/Da Ponte
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherubinhoe/pseuds/Cherubinhoe
Summary: A retelling of the opera from Dorabella's point of view in which she finds herself drawn more to her chambermaid than to the Albanian stranger trying so desperately to win her hand.





	1. In uomini, in soldati

**Author's Note:**

> In men, in soldiers, you hope for fidelity? What nonsense! Let’s love for convenience, for our own vanity!
> 
> If you've never seen the opera before (first of all I'm very proud of you for giving this work a shot), here's a quick rundown (skip to the story if you know the opera already):
> 
> Dorabella and Fiordiligi are sisters and Despina is their wily chambermaid. They are the fiances of the soldiers Ferrando and Guglielmo, respectively. One day neighborhood curmudgeon Don Alfonso makes a bet with the two boys that if they disguise themselves and attempt to woo the other's girlfriend, the ladies will fall to their temptation. Confident in the girls' faithfulness, they take him up on the bet, pretend to go to war, and return disguised as Sempronio and Tizio, respectively. Don Alfonso recruits Despina to urge the ladies to give in to their new suitors, although Despina does not know it is the fiances in disguise.  
> Check out the opera on youtube if you like by looking up 'Cosi Fan Tutte - complete (English Subtitles)'  
> Got all that? HOKAY HERE GOES

“Ah, get away from me!”

The words tear themselves from my delicate throat as I hurl myself onto the chaise lounge in my bedroom’s antechamber. The velvet crushes against my cheek, muffling the sound of my sobs. I feel the cushion dip beside my body, and know it to be Fiordiligi. She puts a hand on my shoulder and I bat it away, looking up through a veil of tears to glare at her. The sunlight streaming in from the nearby window is painful to my eyes; I cover them with my hands.

“Shut the windows. I hate the light!” I demand, and Fiordiligi gestures with one gloved hand to the other figure in the room. In my tumult I had not noticed Despina’s presence, but now that I have I find myself somehow even more distressed. Despina’s eyes are wide as moons, but she obeys the order, rushing over to the window and drawing the curtains so that the room is plunged into dimness.

It does nothing to ease my despair. I throw one arm over my forehead as I turn to lie on my back. My diaphragm is fluttering erratically in time with my sobs, and hiccoughs wrench themselves from my lungs. “I hate the air I breathe,” I murmur, clutching at the heavy locket upon my breast and feeling my own chest heave. “I hate myself!”

“Dear sister…” Fiordiligi is speaking, her voice steadier than my own but still betraying her harried, tearful state. “Try to calm yourself. It won’t do to be so miserable, and it won’t bring them back to us.”

I frown fiercely at her. “Then I shall die.” I turn over onto my side, away from her, and she makes a noise of desperation.

Despina speaks up, still standing near the window and half obscured by the shadow of a nearby armoire. “My ladies, what’s happened?”

“Oh, it’s a terrible disaster!” I shriek, drawing up a second pillow from the floor so that I may bury my face in it.

Sensing neither a straight answer nor a rebuke, Despina approaches my chair. Worry paints lines across her pretty features as she now addresses Fiordiligi. “Come on, you, out with it! What’s happened?” She hands my sister a handkerchief, which she uses to dab at her face.

“Our lovers… have left Naples.”

Despina blinks twice, thrice. “Is that all?” She looks from Fiordiligi to me and back again. “They will return.”

I feel my blood run hot. Who is she, to presume such a thing? “Who knows?” I exclaim.

“What do you mean?” Despina perches herself on the arm of the chair and strokes the dampened hair out of my face, as she has done many times. I’m sure there is little friendship or compassion in it, only a duty to keep her mistress’ face clear from unseemly detritus. “Where have they gone?”

“To the battlefield,” I choke. The words are broken, much akin to my heart. Fiordiligi lets out a stifled cry and covers her face with the handkerchief.

Despina chuckles as she continues to run her calloused fingers lightly over my hairline. “So much the better for you! They’ll return laden with laurels.”

I cannot fathom her gall, and fix Despina with my very best glower. “And if they perish?”

Despina stops in her ministrations. Her eyes glint with something I cannot comprehend. “In that case,” she says, “so much the better for you.”

My mouth falls open, and I am wordless with rage. Fiordiligi speaks for me, her voice peaking with horrified indignation. “Stupid girl, what are you saying?” She stands as if to strike her, and Despina takes a few steps backwards, both hands held up in front of her in wordless concession.

“Only the plain truth: that there are hundreds of men to replace your Ferrando and Guglielmo, my ladies.” Fiordiligi sputters at her brashness, and Despina uses her hesitation to continue, saying, “All men are equipped the same as your two lovers; if they should fall, you will find others.” She curtsies deeply to Fiordiligi and me, and then looks up with her eyes as her head is bent low to add, “I speak from experience in such matters.”

I let out another sob, and both my sister and my maid look to me: I cry, “If my Ferrando were lost, I would surely die!”

Fiordiligi takes my hand in hers, squeezing my fingers in sympathy. Her voice breaks as she says, “And I think I would bury myself alive if my dear Guglielmo were lost.”

Despina crosses her arms in front of her and regards us smugly. “Good for you! You would ‘surely’ die, and you ‘think’ you will bury yourself alive. But neither has come to pass, and your lovers are already an hour gone. There will be plenty of others who will console you for your loss.”

Her words confuse me, and I look to her with agitation, my hand still in Fiordiligi’s. “And what will you do, if not console us?”

Despina places her hand on her hip. “Encourage you, my ladies.”

“To do what?” asks Fiordiligi.

“Why, to amuse yourselves in their absence.”

Fiordiligi cries out, but I do not understand what Despina is implying. “How do you mean?”

Despina takes a few steps towards me, holding my eyes with her fierce blue-green gaze. “I mean to make love like murderesses, as your lovers will surely do on the battlefield.”

I cannot help it; a shocked laugh escapes me, and I clap my hand over my offending mouth. Her words are so brazen, so outrageous, that I am unable to believe they are real. Fiordiligi’s grip on my hand tightens to a painful level, and she goes again to rebuke Despina. There is a seething fire in my sister’s eyes, one that causes even my heart to skip with trepidation. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, but her wrath unmissable.

“Our lovers are soldiers, and irreproachable examples of chastity and fidelity. And _you_ \--” she points one finger at Despina-- “will _watch your tongue._ ”

My heart is in my throat, pulsing with fear on Despina’s behalf, and yet Despina does not flinch. She only continues to regard Fiordiligi with a knowing, mischievous smile; how she is not quaking in her stockings, I haven’t a clue. I have once or twice been on the receiving end of Fiordiligi’s ire, and know it to be a truly terrifying experience.

Despina only smirks at her. My heart skips again in my chest, for reasons I cannot narrate. Fiordiligi’s finger wavers slightly where it still points in her direction. Eventually my sister tires of staring down our chambermaid and turns her back on the both of us, marching into our bedroom to, presumably, throw herself onto her bed in a wash of tears.

I sit up on the lounge and eye Despina curiously as she slowly begins to make her way closer to me, clearly waiting for permission to approach. I nod, almost imperceptibly, and she takes a seat next to me, leaving space enough between us for me to rearrange my skirts into a more comfortable sitting position.

There is a long moment of silence as we sit beside each other, and eventually I speak. My voice is quiet but steady, now, my tears having run themselves dry. “I still don’t quite understand your meaning.” I tug at my hair where it’s fallen out of place in my throes of anguish.

Despina notices my actions and laughs to herself, reaching up to fix it, something I don’t have the skill to do on my own. “Of course you don’t, my lady.” Her voice is low in my ear as she leans close to adjust the pins holding my auburn curls off of my face. For some reason, the sensation of her breath against the shell of my ear causes me to shiver. “You are young and naïve, as is your sister.” Her hands are strong and unapologetic against my scalp, and she ignores my small noises of protest as every now and then a pin scrapes painfully across my skin. “There are things you do not yet know about the world, and about men, and it’s time you learn.”

She continues, a smile in her voice as she works her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. “In men, in _soldiers_ , you hope for fidelity? Don’t make me laugh. Men are all made of the same stuff. They don’t love us except for their own pleasure, and then when they’ve got it they deny us affection. Why, you’d be better off asking for mercy from a barbarian.”

I cannot find the words to reprimand her as she speaks. I can only wonder at what torments Despina could have experienced in her lifetime to become so jaded about something so bright and beautiful as pure love. My mind wanders again to Ferrando, to our recent parting, and I feel tears prick the corner of my eyes once more.

But Despina is still speaking. “These fairy tales of the unwavering loyalty of men are exactly that-- fairy tales-- and only belong in the mouths and minds of children.”

I frown and press my lips into a thin line. “Come now, Despina-- you’re not all _that_ much older than me.”

She laughs again, and the sound is like a bell. “Maybe not,” she says, and leans even closer to me, her fingers still roaming across my scalp. “But I _am_ wiser. Especially in this regard.” Her breath is warm against my neck, and causes the hair on my arms to stand on end.

Suddenly my head is empty, devoid even of thoughts of Ferrando. Despina gives the top of my hair a light pat to signal she has finished in her work, and I turn my head to look at her again. “And what,” I begin, planning out my next words as carefully as a move in a game of chess, “might someone of your wisdom suggest?”

Despina’s crafty eyes glint again. “Pay them back with the same coin.”

My stomach churns with guilt at the mere insinuation of it, and I feel a blush rise to tinge my cheeks. It’s too much, it’s all too much. I stand and stumble backwards away from her, nearly tripping over the back of my own skirts. Muttering something incoherent about _well I never_ and _the nerve of her_ as I go, I follow in Fiordiligi’s footsteps into the bedroom and slam the door behind me, the roar of blood in my ears deafened only by the mighty thudding of my heart.


	2. Una donna a quindici anni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman of more than fifteen years must know how to hide her feelings without becoming flustered, how to lie without blushing.

“You’re two strange girls, to be sure.”

Despina’s voice is rife with bemusement as she keeps two paces behind Fiordiligi, who is at present ambling back and forth across the antechamber. She grips a soft pink ribbon in her hand and is doing her very best to tie it about the waist of my sister’s canary-colored gown, but Fiordiligi keeps moving too far away from her, wringing her hands together with nervous energy.

Fiordiligi jumps at Despina’s words with a cry of “Good heavens!” as if she hadn’t even noticed the chambermaid behind her until this moment. I cover a jittery giggle with my fan from where I sit by the window in my white stay and underskirts. It is decidedly unusual to see my ordinarily stoic sister so flustered, although I can understand the reasoning behind it. 

It is only early afternoon, and yet the sad morning departure of our beloveds now seems decades ago; I still find myself in a state of shock from everything that’s happened in the short time since. From the startling and unsolicited arrival of the mysterious Albanian travellers, to their shameless propositions of love and kisses, and finally to their imbibing of  _ poison  _ on our behalf, it is hard to believe that our hearts have not ceased beating from the sheer trauma of it all.

Despina holds out the ribbon in her hands, one eyebrow arched with an aloof air, and Fiordiligi begrudgingly stands still and holds out her arms so that Despina can finish her task. Her hands move quick as a flash, tying the ribbon into an elegant bow at the small of Fiordiligi’s back.

Fiordiligi looks from Despina to me and back again, clearly perturbed by Despina’s knowing smile. “What do you want?”

Despina considers her question for a moment. “For myself, nothing.”

“For whom, then?” I ask, folding my fan closed and placing it on my lap.

“For you. Are you women, or not?”

Fiordiligi puzzles at her as Despina goes to pick up my silken pink gown from where it rests on the chaise lounge. “What do you mean?” she asks, a mote of curiosity betraying her pretense of vexation.

“I mean, you must act like women! Treat love lightly and don’t let a good opportunity pass you by.” Despina busies herself with a needle and thread against my gown as she speaks. “These two new suitors are rich, handsome, noble, and generous, as Don Alfonso has attested. They even had the courage to  _ die  _ for you; these are virtues that mustn’t be scorned.”

A shiver races across my shoulders as I remember those horrible moments in the garden. In my mind’s eye I see again the bodies of Sempronio and Tizio, the handsome foreigners, writhing on the grass under the effects of the toxin.

I feel a bit faint at the recollection of it. “Thank goodness Doctor Mesmer was nearby to aid them,” I say, pressing my fingers daintily to my forehead.

A strange, cavalier expression splits Despina’s face into a smile. “Thank goodness indeed.” She breaks the rose-colored thread between her teeth and holds out my gown to inspect her handiwork in the light.

Fiordiligi has been eerily silent for this exchange, having ceased in her pacing. Still wringing her hands she says quietly to Despina, “You’d have us do some lovely things, but I’ll not let us become the subject of idle gossip. What should happen if our fiancés found out we were entertaining these men?”

“They’ll never find out, so long as you’re discrete,” Despina replies as she stands to bring my gown over to me. Though she addresses Fiordiligi, her eyes are fixed on mine. “As you said, your Ganymedes are off and away to war. Until they return, do as soldiers do: recruit!”

I redden deeply at her bawdy words and her licentious stare, snapping open my fan once more so that I may hide my face under the pretense of cooling myself. Fiordiligi worries her lower lip between her teeth as she toys with the locket that hangs heavy around her neck. 

“I… I need to think,” she says, and strides over to the balcony doors. A warm summer breeze filters into the antechamber as she steps out into the sun and closes the door rather brusquely behind her. 

Suddenly Despina and I are alone again. She holds my satin gown open for me, and I turn to thread my arms through the ruffled sleeves.

“I can’t imagine Fiordiligi ever agreeing to such a thing,” I muse to no one in particular. Despina comes around to my front and begins fastening the hooks that run from my waist up to the top of my stay.

“Maybe not. But what about you?”

“Me?” I’m startled by the question. Fiordiligi is the older sister, and far more studious and sensible than I. Ever since our parents’ departure for Sicily some four months ago I have followed her every decision and direction to the letter without question, as my dear mother and father bade me do. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Of course it does.” Despina’s fingers are nimble against the hooks of my gown, and as she travels up the front of my bodice I feel an unfamiliar fluttering sensation in my chest. “You are as much a woman as she, and old enough to decide for yourself; a woman of your age should know everything that goes on.” She deftly does up my last hook and slides another ribbon, this one a gleaming goldenrod, out from where it hangs over her shoulder. “Where the devil hides his tail, what is good, what is bad.” I hold out my arms as she presses the ribbon to my midsection and travels around to my back, and even through the rigid bones of my stay I feel the gentle pressure of her fingertips. “She must know the little tricks that ensnare her lovers.”

“Little tricks?” I ask, breathless. Despina finishes tying my bow and brushes her hands against my skirts to even them out. “And you think they will be enough to entice Tizio?”  
“I guarantee it,” Despina promises, coming back to my front and rubbing her thumb over what must be an errant smear of rouge on my cheek. For some reason my skin feels hot under her touch.

“I don’t think I can. I don’t… I don’t even know what he will do.”  
“Tizio?” Despina asks, drawing her hand away in surprise. “Surely you must… has Ferrando never kissed you, never held you?”

I feel a hot blush rise to tinge my cheeks in mortification at the mention of Ferrando’s name. “Well, yes, he has kissed me, but only on the hand or, once, on the cheek.”

“Pah! What a milksop.” Despina claps her hand to her own cheek, her expression approaching one of pity. “You really are unversed in this, aren’t you?” she remarks. There’s a change in her face, like she’s come to a decision, and she takes a step back from me.

“A kiss on the hand is only the start, my lady,” she says, dropping to one knee on the carpet and extending an upturned palm in my direction. My heart beats madly in my ears as I realize her intentions and place my hand lightly upon hers. She takes it to her mouth and kisses the back of it, her lips warm against my skin, and then stands with her head slightly bowed.

“When you go to Tizio, he will draw you near and hold you,” she says, taking my right hand in her own and raising it over my head. I turn underneath it, willingly, gladly, and allow Despina to pull me towards her, the other of her hands going to the small of my back and pressing me close. In the back of my addled mind I realize for the first time that I am a fair bit taller than her. “He will caress you like this, and whisper sweet nothings.” Her fingers brush fire against my cheek. My face feels as though it may catch flame. 

“And then?” 

Her lips come within an inch of mine. “And then, my lady Dorabella.” I quiver at the sound of my name on her tongue. I do not dare to breathe. “And then.”

Suddenly there is a noise from the balcony, and I feel Despina release me and lurch backwards. We look towards Fiordiligi where she stands in the open doorway, silhouetted by the afternoon sun streaming in behind her. Immediately a bashful look washes across my face, and I notice Despina make a blundering half-curtsy in Fiordiligi’s direction. 

“Done thinking, sister?” I ask, a quaver to my voice. For a moment I wonder if she will suddenly scold me for inappropriate behavior, but it appears she is too lost in her own thoughts to have noticed anything untoward going on. Apprehensively I venture, “What do you say?”

Fiordiligi busies her hands about her locket, running her thumbs over the smooth metal surface. “I say… I say I am amazed at your infernal spirit.” Her words bite, but her tone lacks the righteous anger it held this morning. She continues, almost pleading, “Don’t you think it a crime for betrothed girls to do these things? What about our faithful hearts, Dorabella?” There is a torment in her eyes that tugs painfully on my heart.

Wishing to put her at ease and soothe the lines of anguish marking her brow, I speak slowly, carefully selecting each word as I go. “Our hearts will remain what they are. To…  _ amuse  _ ourselves a little-- and not die of melancholy-- is not lacking in faith, is it?”

There is a pregnant silence as she seems taken aback by my forwardness. She looks away from me, studying a portrait on the wall. “I… suppose not.”

“Wonderful!” Despina claps her hands together and goes over to Fiordiligi, pulling her over to the vanity and sitting her down to touch up her cosmetics. “I’ll get you two looking your finest, and we will go out to meet them in the garden.” She approaches me again, or so I think, but only to reach behind me to the bureau and grab hold of the perfume atomizer.

“Despina,” I whisper so that Fiordiligi cannot hear from where she sits and stares woefully into the mirror. Despina freezes mid-reach and eyes me in her periphery. “Will it really be like that? With Tizio, I mean.”

Despina chuckles in response and coyly spritzes my chest with perfume. “With him, my lady, it will be even better.”


End file.
